


Control

by thebloodydamnqueen



Category: Red Rising Trilogy - Pierce Brown
Genre: F/M, Fighting, Kissing, Non-Graphic Violence, Power Dynamics, Red Rising, Romance, Sarcasm, Swearing, golden son, howlers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 14:48:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4964839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebloodydamnqueen/pseuds/thebloodydamnqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sevro au Barca is the undisputed leader of the Howlers, unmatched by any in his following - or so he thinks. When a girl challenges his right to lead the Howlers a deadly game between the two begins; but when the two start to fall for one another who will really keep control?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Control

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This fic was inspired by Halsey's song "Control" and the rest was history, hope you enjoy :)

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking joking,” Sevro laughed at the girl that was drawing her razor in front of him. Still, he arched a single eyebrow at her absentmindedly scratching at his thigh, appraising her.   
“This ain’t no joke, fuckface. But if you wanna fight me barehanded like a gorydamn moron be my guest,” she snarled back, taking a step towards him and pressing her blade against his neck. Sevro smirked, rolling his eyes at her and easily shoved the blade away from his face with the small curved blade that had slipped out of his shirtsleeve.   
“Come now, sweetheart,” he mocked, shuddering a little as he realized he sounded like his father when he did it. “Can’t you be a good bitch and waddle away, tail between your legs?” A few nervous chuckles from his present Howlers echoed in the huge banquet hall.   
“Fuck you, Goblin,” she spat a wad of phlegm at his boots and he frowned at the offending gob. Sevro sighed.   
“The terms again? But the quick version, I never thought I would find anything more disgustingly boring as Roque’s poetry but-“Sevro winked at the girl, “there you are.”  
Annoyed the girl blew a stray piece of bronze hair out of her face, “My terms, dickhead, are simple. You win, I humbly leave you to lead the Howlers and become your own personal bitch. BUT,” she shouted to be heard over the chorusing laughter in the hall, “when I win, the Howlers follow me, and you,” she stepped closer to Sevro again, “become MY personal bitch. Got it? Or should I say it again so your thick head can process that?”   
Sevro glared at the girl but nodded, still unable to sort her true angle, she was blatantly obvious in her desire for power, but there was something more and it made him uneasy. Something besides hatred or fear was glaring back at him. It was revolting.   
“Thistle, you’ll call the duel,” Sevro called and the dark girl slipped down from her perch on the table with Pebble. She stepped close to Sevro, a tiny hand pressing to the small of his back as she leaned in to whisper to him.   
“I’m never going to let this go if you lose,” she whispered, a soft laugh escaping her. He shrugged her off and bowed slightly to the challenging girl. She bowed back awkwardly.  
“You sure you’re even Gold there, Bronzie?”   
“It’s Bronwyn, you dumbass, and you’re about to find out,” she smirked at him and then the duel began.  
Sevro launched himself to the side as the girl lunged at him, razor slicing through air he had just been occupying. Huffing slightly he recalculated for her speed and the two began to dance around each other, each a flurry of limb and blade. He caught her ankle in a downward stroke only to feel his shoulder grazed by a small knife she had drawn from her belt.   
“Cheat,” he hissed, but was secretly impressed. The fight moved around the room as she cornered him at the table just to screech when he ducked his small body underneath it and ran along the length of it.  
“Gorydamn coward! Running from me now?” she screamed as she ran along the top of the table, splattering plates and leaving dust in the cracked dishes.   
Sevro panted beneath the table and carefully listened until he was sure of his next move. Slamming his razor up through the thick wood of the table he heard her yell and stumble backwards. Slipping out from under the table he caught her with one arm and pressed his knife to her throat as she fell back from the table.   
“Well, wasn’t that fun, my little bitch?” he murmured, loosening his grip slightly as she slumped in his arms, defeated.   
He dropped his knife in surprise at her next move; quick as a fox she twisted in his grasp, pulling his face by the hair towards hers and pressing her lips against his quick before slamming his head back into the wall behind him. His head spun terribly as she gripped his throat and he clumsily reached for his other weapons only to find she had effectively emptied his pockets when he had been taunting her. Kneeing him swiftly in the gut, he dropped groaning at her feet. He felt the weight of her on his chest and arms; she punched his nose, the sudden gush of blood telling him she had broken it even as he gasped and swore, spitting blood at her. He choked slightly when she pressed his own dropped blade against his neck and nicked a small scratch along his jugular.   
The room was dead silent as Thistle stared open-mouthed at the pair on the floor. She had never seen someone outfox her master, not since the Jackal in the Institute. “Bronwyn is the victor,” she whispered and watched as the small girl leaned down to Sevro even as he glared menacingly up at her.   
“Oh,” she clicked her tongue at him, “Don’t be such a bitch, Sevro.”


End file.
